


Las Vegas Night at Our Lady of the Perpetual Indulgence

by Araminta Carrington (Dargie)



Series: Araminta's Horseman Epic [1]
Category: Highlander
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-12
Updated: 2010-01-12
Packaged: 2017-10-06 05:23:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dargie/pseuds/Araminta%20Carrington
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Horsemen play bingo to win, and woe betide anyone who gets in their way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Las Vegas Night at Our Lady of the Perpetual Indulgence

**Author's Note:**

> This is the place the disclaimers belong  
> But I'm bored with the format, the same tired old song;  
> I don't own these boys, I'm glad I do not  
> Their upkeep and care would cost quite a lot.  
> So to Panzer and Davis, and Rysher too  
> I say, they're your boys, I'll just borrow a few  
> From time to time, if you don't object,  
> And I promise to treat them with all due respect.  
> And one more thing, I think I should mention  
> To subvert childrens' morals is not my intention.  
> If you're under eighteen, do not read this tale  
> The thrust of the story is male fooling with male.

There was nothing Kronos liked so much as winning. So logically he really, really hated losing. It was a quirk of his, a teensy little personality flaw that some people just blew all out of proportion.

"I mean, everyone hates to lose, right?" he asked his brothers, Silas and Caspian. "I said "RIGHT?""

"Right, brother," Silas said, and Caspian nodded and pulled the wings off another fly.

"So if I were to go to some lengths to assure myself that I had…at least an equal chance to win at whatever I chose to turn my hand to, well that would be understandable, right brothers?"

"Oh yeah," Caspian agreed, enjoying the tiny screams of the fly.

"Absolutely," echoed Silas.

"Good, that's what I thought." He turned to the woman who was selling bingo cards. "I want all of them."

"But you can't have all of them," she told him.

He jingled his money pouch. "I have the money."

"I don't care, you can't have all of them."

He glared at her, his lip curled up at the sight of her perfectly coiffed, blue-rinsed hair, her bifocals perched at the tip of her nose, her thin…terrifyingly thin lips. "Then how many can I have?" he growled at the schoolmarmish creature before him.

"Why not start with a dozen?"

He slammed down a fist full of sesterces. "I'll take twenty, and my brothers will, too."

"Tsk," the woman said as she counted out the cards. "Some people."

"I didn't catch what you said, mortal," Kronos sneered, making the word "mortal" a curse.

"I said "some people" young man. Now here are your cards, please move along, there are a lot of other players waiting behind you."

Kronos swaggered off, holding all sixty cards. "Silas, go get some dabbers. Caspian, go find us some free chairs and hold our places." He smiled as he heard the woman saying, "Wait a minute, what sort of money is this?"

Kronos got himself a cup of coffee ("Cream and lots of sugar. You don't have any of those flavored creamers, like amaretto I suppose? No, you mortals don't understand that sort of special taste.") and walked into the hall where the long rows of tables and chairs had been set up. He spotted Caspian right away, mostly because his brother was standing on one of the tables with his sword drawn. As he got closer he could see that Caspian's leather pants and shirt were covered with blood. Kronos wished he could have watched the confrontation; Caspian in action was Caspian at his savage best.

"Well done, brother, this is close to the stage; we won't have any trouble hearing the numbers called."

Caspian stepped down onto one of the chairs. "I thought you'd like these seats, brother."

"Are you boys really brothers? You don't look alike," said a woman sitting at the next table. "Except for the face paint, of course."

"Face paint???" Caspian snarled, and raised his sword, but Kronos held him back. "We'll have our revenge when the numbers are called, brother." He gripped Caspian's arms and looked him in the eyes…more or less. It was pretty creepy to actually look Caspian in the eye, what with the way they rotated and gave off such nasty electrical charges when he was excited.

"Brothers!" Silas boomed, "I've been most fortunate! They had a sale on the giant size dabber!" He threw a pile of them onto the table and both Kronos and Caspian slapped him on the back.

"Oh now I know they can't be brothers," the woman said to her table mates who all nodded.

The three Horsemen settled themselves, shoving other players out of the way to fit all their cards on the table. While they were setting up, a woman came by with two cups of coffee.

"Where's Raylene?" she asked them. "I left my cousin Raylene at this table with our bingo cards. Little woman? Blue sweater?"

"There's no Raylene here, mortal," Kronos told her, with an evil stare that caused her to back away from the table. "Caspian, clean up that blood."

The woman wandered off and Caspian fished under the table and brought up a blue angora sweater. He tried to sponge the blood off the table but the sweater was already soaked with it. In the end he laid down the bingo cards Kronos had given him and watched them curl up as they absorbed the blood. "Oh, brother, I forgot to mention that I'd gotten a dozen extra cards for us."

Kronos just stared at him.

"You, for you," Caspian said quickly. "I got them for you."

"That's the spirit, brother." Kronos uncapped one of the giant-sized dabbers and tested. It was going to be a profitable night. Too bad Methos wasn't there to share it with them.

Author's note: This next section is a Highlander-type flashback with nice leather costumes and bad wigs.

Methos.

Kronos remembered vividly the first time he'd seen the old immortal, standing up on the platform behind the bingo caller at the brand new Temple of Dagon in Babylon. ("Dagon Bingo Night: Giving something back to the community.") Even then, Methos was…different. He had a unique immortal buzz, so unlike any Kronos had ever felt before; not a buzz at all, but more a sensation like having to sneeze and not quite being able to. It was disturbing and arousing at the same time.

The slender, heavily abused form was chained and shackled, and his dark hair was matted with dried blood and other nasty things like goat's dung, snot and moldy porridge.

Kronos thought he'd never seen anything so beautiful.

"Brothers, we have business here," he told Silas and Caspian, never taking his eyes from the figure who stood, eyes downcast, patiently awaiting his fate. "Get the tablets. The bonus game," he said, and all eyes turned towards him. Not many could afford the bonus game. Not only were the clay tablets expensive, but if you lost you were immediately executed. Bingo was a serious business back in the Bronze Age.

Kronos lined up his tablets, he whipped out his bronze bingo card dabber and he waited. He waited like some savage, saber-toothed cat stalking its prey. He would win the undeniably molestable creature on the platform or by all the gods, heads would roll.

Caspian and Silas flanked him, swords drawn, ready to fight their way out of the bingo hut with their brother's prize. While he waited, Caspian smashed ants between his fingers.

Finally the bonus game was called. There was an interminable wait while the prize was shown to the assembly. Kronos drank in the sight of his long legs, hard-muscled thighs, pert buttocks. His heart beat fast imagining this creature dressed in tight, black leather and riding…

"No, I must keep my wits about me," he told himself. He clamped down on thoughts of torture, rape, mayhem and nookie at sword's point. Time enough for that when the beautiful immortal was his.

"I – XVII" shouted the caller, causing a little confusion since no one knew if he meant the letter eye or the Roman numeral for one, and anyway Roman numerals hadn't been invented yet which only clouded the issue.

"That was I – 17" shouted the caller after a little conference with the judges. Kronos chipped away all the clay numbers under the letter "I" on each one of his tablets.

"O – 20" Kronos dug the clay away from all the O numbers.

"N – 12" Again, Kronos dealt quickly with the numbers. He was quite good at this, being a regular at the Monte Carlo nights at the temple of Innana back home, and all. In fact he'd won a nice shield there a few years ago, with a very attractive Innana logo in the center and detailed pictures of perverse sexual acts around the rim.

"I – 5" Since his Is were taken care of he sat back and looked around at all the other contestants. They all looked nervous. That's how Kronos liked it to be.

"B – 52" He scratched out all the Bs. Then just to save time he scratched out all the Gs as well, and just waited.

Finally, after a few more calls, for N and B, the first G number was called and Kronos shouted "BINGO!"

The judge came over to check his tablets. "Here, you've got them all marked!"

"That's right," Kronos said. "I've been extremely lucky today."

"But that's…" The judge noticed three unsheathed swords glittering in the torchlight. "That's wonderful. We have a winner!" he announced.

It was with pride, a measure of pleasure at hearing the screams of the losers as they were thrown into the Fiery Belly of Dagon ("Cast your troubles into the Fiery Belly of Dagon and watch them disappear.") and not a little sense of anticipation that he mounted the platform and took possession of his prize. He caught hold of the chain attached to the slave's collar and twisted it around his fist, forcing the slave to lift his head and look into Krono's eyes.

The sensation was like being hit by lightning. Sort of. It might have been more like actually being hit rather than narrowly missed if the gloriously gorgeous green and gold eyes had been anything but disturbingly blank. What damnable treatment had this incredibly perfect creature been subjected to? And how could Kronos duplicate it for his own amusement? He dragged his prize out of the hut with Silas and Caspian guarding his back. Just for effect, Caspian killed a few innocent bystanders including the temple prostitute who was selling raffle tickets.

Kronos slung his new slave over his saddle, and the three rode off in triumph. Little did Kronos know that what he had done that day would change his life.

End of flashback. Just so you know.

Kronos snapped back to the present. (See? I told you.) Most of the seats were filled and Father Flannagan had taken the stage to make announcements. Silas and Caspian were playing tic-tac-toe while they waited.

Suddenly Kronos sensed the presence of another immortal, a very old, very strong one, one who made him feel like he needed to orgasm but couldn't.

It couldn't be anyone but Methos!

He looked around and saw the tall figure hovering like some sort of graveyard bird, close to the entrance of the hall. Clearly he sensed immortal presence, as well.

"Always cautious, eh brother?" Kronos muttered. "Silas, Caspian, play the cards for me. I'll be back when I can."

"There are seventy-two of them!" Caspian protested.

"We'll manage, brother," Silas said, whacking Caspian on the head with his Morgenstern.

"Owwwww…"

Ever the stealthy hunter, Kronos cut through the church kitchen where volunteers were putting cookies on trays. He rounded a corner and there was Methos. By the coffee urn.

"Greetings, brother!" he said, slamming his bingo dabber against Methos' forehead.

"Ow. Kronos, quit that."

"Have I surprised you, brother?"

"Not really, I suspected you were here; I saw Caspian's hair sticking up."

"You always were the clever one. What brings you here?"

"I like the coffee."

"Liar," Kronos said seductively. "You came for the bingo. To relive old times," he challenged. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" he asked, nearly purring.

Methos paled. "Those times are over."

"They'll never be over, Methos. You belonged to me then and you belong to me still."

Okay so here comes another flashback. You can learn to look for these by watching the eyes of the characters in a scene: if they get wide, it's a buzz, but if they go all glassy and faraway, it's a flashback. Got that? Okay so here's another flashback that Kronos and Methos are sharing. By the way, I don't guarantee the accuracy of these things.

When they reached their camp, the Horsemen parted company. Silas went off to work on his autobiography which he had entitled "The Boy Who Was War: A Bronze-Age Memoir" which was running to about a thousand tablets so far, and he'd only just reached puberty. Caspian went off to tend his vermin collection and Kronos took his new slave to his tent.

Once inside, Kronos removed his armor. "What's your name, slave?" he asked.

There was no response from the handsome immortal.

"Your name?" Kronos asked again, more sharply and in another language. Still no response from the glassy-eyed slave. (No, he's not having a flashback. Okay well maybe he is but you're not going to see it, so you can take it as read that he's glassy-eyed because of his Terrible!Past.) Kronos tried again in several other ancient languages, but received no response. Finally in desperation he pointed to himself. "Kronos," he said. "Kro-nos."

"Crow nose?"

"No, Kro-nos."

"No crow nose?"

"Forget it." He poked the slave in the chest. "You?"

Methos looked a little affronted. "Ewe?"

"No, you, you. Me Kronos," he said poking himself in the chest. "You?"

"No ewe-ewe mee-crow-nose ewe?"

Impotent fury rose in the breast of the Horseman and he struck his new slave. "B – 22" the man blurted in terror.

"What?"

"N – 41."

Gods, thought Kronos, he speaks only Bingo. Suddenly his rage faded, and he felt a sliver of pity invade his heart, a heart that had been hardened by centuries of hardship, war and watching Caspian bite the heads off of chickens. ("Hey, these are pretty good, brothers. Crunchy. Want one?") Kronos turned away quickly lest his new slave see the tears standing in his eyes.

"G – 3?" The new slave asked, reaching out to touch Kronos. Kronos turned, he caught sight of the long, the really long fingers that lay against his arm and he couldn't help but think about what such long fingers might be good for. He caught hold of the man's chains and drew him to the bed. Kronos was burning for this man, this insanely exquisite creature with the magnificent toes. He was seized with the uncontrollable desire to fling him down on the bed, chain him to the tent pole and rape his pert ass. He was also seized with the desire to torture him until he shrieked for mercy, and wondered if he hadn't been spending just a bit too much time with Caspian.

"I'm not really a bad guy," he told his new possession as he tenderly unshackled wrists and ankles. He took the chain off the collar but left the metal ring itself. "I kind of dig you in a slave collar," he admitted, feeling just a bit embarrassed. "I hope you don't mind."

Then, tenderer feelings out of the way, Kronos ripped open his leather pants and proceeded to defile the incredibly, gloriously, stupendously attractive young man in every way he could think of. When he had fucked him until his own cock was about to fall off, he wrenched one of the tent poles out of the ground and…

Methos: (Clears throat.)

Araminta: What? What are you doing here?

Methos: You and I have to talk.

Araminta: About what? You're supposed to be in my story now. Go on, get back there. Shoo!

Methos: That's what we need to talk about, now sit down for a minute. No, put the keyboard down, too. I don't want you typing while I'm trying to talk to you.

Araminta: (Puts down keyboard with reluctance.) Okay, what?

Methos: Why don't you like me?

Araminta: I beg your pardon?

Methos: Why don't you like me? I mean, look at the way you treat me. You go out of your way to make it clear I'm the most incredibly attractive hunk who ever walked the earth…

Araminta: I never actually said "hunk."

Methos: That's just semantics, Minty. My point is that you're heaping all this praise on me and then you turn me into the Bronze Age version of an inflatable sex doll, except that I don't explode when someone sticks a knife into me. I mean, you're making me nervous with this narrative. "Tent pole???"

Araminta: But…that's what you do. That's who you are.

Methos: Sez who?

Araminta: Everyone! Methos, you're a serious contender in the Rape and Abuse Sweepstakes.

Methos: I can't figure that out.

Araminta: (Shrugs) Neither can I, really, but it's Characterization.

Methos: And I mean…goat's dung? Snot?

Araminta: Poetic license.

Methos: Look, couldn't Kronos and I just have a nice friendly fuck?

Araminta: But…what about the angst?

Methos: We didn't have angst in the Bronze Age.

Araminta: Really?

Methos: No, not really, but Kronos and I, we didn't over-think sex all the time. It was something to do after a raid, or on a rainy afternoon when we couldn't go out and pillage. And we didn't have to beat each other up to do it. I mean, if that were true, I'd have spent most of my time with the Horsemen as one big bruise. (He gets a reminiscent smile on his face.)

Araminta: That good, huh?

Methos: Oh yee-ah. Kronos had this thing he did with yak butter, a camel bone and three flat stones…

Araminta: You'll have to tell me about that sometime, but right now I want to finish this story and I need you to explain to me why, if Kronos was such a tender guy, he stuck a knife in you when he found you in Seacouver.

Methos: Immortals stick knives into each other all the time. It's like saying "Hi there, looking good."

Araminta: Pull the other one, buddy, it has bells on it.

Methos: (Smiling evilly) Now why don't you believe me?

Araminta: Just naturally suspicious, I guess.

Methos: Well, he was nervous.

Araminta: Nervous?

Methos: He's a sensitive guy.

Araminta: (Stares.)

Methos: Whose story is this anyway?

Araminta: Mine, and don't you forget it.

Methos: (Folds arms) Oh really? And what if I refuse to co-operate? What if I get up and leave the tent and go off with Byron? I can do it, you know; I've been in enough fan stories now that I know my way around a plot twist. Think of the drama! Think of how much time my fans will spend trying to make sense of it all.

Araminta: Are you threatening me?

Methos: Uhhh, yes, I believe I am.

Araminta: What is it you want?

Methos: Just some good, non-abusive sex. I'm so fucking chafed….

Araminta: Just for this story?

Methos: Just for this story. We can negotiate on future ones.

Araminta: (Considers for a moment, then nods.) Okay, it's a deal. And in return you'll do anything else I write?

Methos: Well, within reason. (He catches her expression.) Okay, okay, just please don't let me be captured by really scrofulous nomadic tribesmen with huge diseased schlongs, who use me at their sex and torture orgies, okay? And no more snot or dung.

Araminta: The snot was a bit over the top. Okay It's a deal then. I'll pick up on the flashback later when I've rethought it.

Methos: Fair enough. I'm gonna go give Kronos some hickeys. (He leaves.)

Araminta: (Muttering) They're so difficult to work with…

End of flashback, but don't forget where we left off because they'll probably be coming back to it right about here.

"Interesting flashback," Kronos remarked, shaking his head. "So how have you been?"

"Eh, you know," Methos said, folding his arms. "Same old same old."

"Yeah, I hear you. Centuries come, centuries go."

"You still hanging with that loser, Caspian?"

Kronos shrugged. "I never did make friends easily, and anyway, you know what they say: Make new friends and keep the old."

"True, true. So how's Silas? Still working on that autobiography?"

Their reunion was suddenly interrupted by a shriek of "YOU BASTARDS!" and the whirr of a sword swinging through the stuffy air of the church basement. The two immortals ducked just in time to avoid being decapitated in tandem.

"I'm history," Kronos barked at Methos and crawled under the first table he came to.

"What's that fuss in the back?" Father Flannagan asked, and everyone turned to stare at Methos, and at Cassandra who was furiously trying to pull her sword free from the door frame.

Duncan arrived, and pulled her away from the sword which wasn't going to budge anyway. "Cassandra, cut it out, this is holy ground."

"I wanna kill him, lemme kill him, Duncan, I gotta kill him. Bastard," she spat at Methos and went for his eyes with her fingernails.

"What are you doing here, Duncan?" Methos asked as he caught hold of her wrists and held her away from his face.

"Cassandra wanted to go to confession. What about you? Why do you have a red dot on your forehead?"

"It's Ash Wednesday, isn't it?" Methos asked.

"He came to play BINGO!" Cassandra shrieked.

"You kids can't stay if you're going to be disruptive," Father Flannagan said as the mike began to feed back. The horrible squeal stopped even Cassandra momentarily.

"Is that true, Methos, you came to play bingo?" Duncan asked, his face a mask of horror.

Methos looked from Duncan to Cassandra. "I don't know what she's talking about." But before he could stop her she had her hand in his coat pocket and she pulled out the stack of cards he'd just bought and waved them in Mac's face.

"What about these, huh? Use them to write your journals on?" She grabbed a plastic spoon from the coffee area and began to stalk Kronos, leaving Duncan and Methos alone together.

"So it's true then," Duncan said.

"MacLeod, you have to understand. Times were different then. I was different."

"No you weren't; you came here to play today!"

"Okay, times were different."

"You played bingo, Methos, you played without any consideration for human decency."

Methos stared at MacLeod, a terrible sadness welling up in his heart. In the background he could hear Cassandra attacking the other three with the plastic spoon, screaming "BINGO BASTARDS!!!!" at them. "Yes, MacLeod, I played. I played a thousand games. I played ten thousand. And I liked it. I won swords and shields. I won horses and slaves. I even won a night with the Whore of Babylon once."

"And you never told me."

"I never told you because I knew you wouldn't understand."

Mac's eyes were hard as he looked at Methos. It was as if he had become a stranger. "We're through then," he said quietly and Methos nodded, fighting the tears. Why couldn't MacLeod understand? Why was it so hard for him to accept what Methos was? It wasn't as if he was so perfect himself; Methos knew Mac watched reruns of the Three Stooges late at night, with the shades drawn, and ate mini marshmallows right out of the bag, but Methos had never, ever thrown that knowledge in Mac's face. He'd never broken Mac's heart with it the way Mac had done to him just now.

He took one last look at Mac who had turned away from him, and was now eating coffee cake and chatting with a grandmotherly-looking woman. ("This is very good; you said the secret was using sour cream?") So it was really over.

"Oh well," he said brightly. Methos took his bingo dabber and sought out his old comrades. As he walked down the rows to where they sat, Methos saw two husky teenagers hauling Cassandra out of the basement.

"Brothers!" Methos said. All three turned.

"Brother!" Silas boomed, jumping up to hug Methos.

"Another brother," the woman at the next table said. "At least this one looks halfway normal."

Caspian looked up from his sketches of plans for rat abattoirs. "Oh, it's you."

Kronos stood and faced him. "I knew you'd come back to me."

Pop quiz: Both Kronos and Methos are getting glassy-eyed. What does this mean?

After a long, lingering preparation with rendered camel fat and anal probes…

Methos: Watch it!

Araminta: Sorry, got carried away. I'll start over.

After a long, lingering preparation with rendered camel fat and gentle fingers, Kronos took his captive with such patience and tenderness that the man beneath him couldn't help but respond. His arousal was so touching to Kronos that he whispered, "I love you," into the shell-like ear of the other immortal…

Methos: (Slides out from under Kronos and gets up.) Now look…

Araminta: Now what?

Methos: Hey, just because I objected to being assaulted with large, clublike objects every fifteen minutes doesn't mean I wanted you to start with the goo.

Kronos: Who are you talking to?

Methos: (Turns to Kronos) Be right with you, babe.

Araminta: So, what's the thrust here? You don't like anything I'm writing about you?

Methos: Not the sex part. Jeez…lissen, we're two guys, okay? We're not Bronze Age versions of The Terminator and we're not women with dicks. We're guys. Do you know what that means?

Araminta: (Affronted) Of course I do!

Methos: Well then why don't you write us like guys? We like sex, we don't much mind where we get it so long as there's a lot of it and we can get off when we feel like it and fall asleep afterwards without having to ask "Was it good for you, honey? Did you come?" Sometimes we're gonna get rough with each other because we can, okay? But that doesn't mean we're gonna chop each other up into immie-kebabs. And we're sure not going to go all dewy-eyed over each other, like, "Oh Kronos, you big, hairy stud-man, I love you!"

Kronos: You do?

Methos: Hang on a sec, I'm trying to make a point here.

Kronos: With who?

Araminta: That's "whom."

Methos: It's just a fan author.

Kronos: A what?

Methos: A fan author.

Kronos: An author with a fan?

Methos: (Picks up a clay tablet and scratches a long series of letters and numbers into it.) Here, hang on to this. You're going to be glad to have it in about three millennia.

Kronos: "http://www…"

Araminta: You know, you're an awful pest. I'm gonna go back to writing Starsky and Hutch

Methos: Those weenies!

Araminta: Weenies???? Take that back.

Methos (Folding arms and looking mulish) No!

Kronos: (Still puzzling over the tablet.) Is this some magical spell?

Araminta: (Types a few lines and watches with satisfaction as Kronos begins to stalk Methos with a large clay phallus.) I can make you sorry.

Methos: Kronos, go lie down, I'll be with you in a minute.

Kronos: I'm hearing voices, I think…

Araminta: I can keep typing all day.

Methos: And Byron's waiting for me right outside.

Araminta: No he's not.

Methos: (Face goes white) What have you done to him, you fiend?

Araminta: Methos, Methos, Methos, somewhere in fandom it's always that summer in Switzerland with the Shelleys and Doctor Polidori. Polidori, Methos, not Benjamin Adams. Never kid a kidder. Byron is happily boffing anyone who will hold still long enough for him to find an orifice.

Methos: Oh…you…bitch…

Kronos: (Sullenly) It's always Methos, Methos, Methos and never Kronos, Kronos, Kronos…

Methos: There are dozens of others…thousands of others I can call on. You can't eliminate them all. You don't even know about most of them.

Araminta: And I can turn you over to Caspian. Lemme tell you, fella, anal probes will be the least of your problems then.

Kronos: Sex. I need some sex.

Methos: Just one second, honeybunch. (Claps his hands over his mouth and his eyes get very wide.)

Araminta: HAH! I knew it.

Methos (desperately) I didn't mean it, I'm channeling some other writer.

Kronos: You didn't?

Araminta: Liar, liar, pants on fire.

Methos: Shut up, just shut up!

Kronos: You didn't mean it when you called me "honeybunch?"

Araminta: Neener, neener.

Methos: Okay, that's the end of this flashback. (Squints very hard until the church basement comes back into view.)

Araminta (Types furiously) No it isn't. (Tent reappears.)

Methos: Is so. (Basement pops into view.)

Araminta: Is not (Tent.)

They go at it for a few minutes.

Silas: Ladies and gentlemen, excuse us, please, we're having technical difficulties. (Whaps Methos and Araminta a few times, and for good measure, gives Kronos a whack upside the head.) Thank you for your patience. We return to our scheduled story.

Duncan was suffering in his dark Highland way. He was guilty and angry and feeling betrayed by the one person he thought he could trust. Methos. Methos… A tear rolled down his cheek.

"There there, young man, what's wrong?"

"My…best friend has betrayed me," he sobbed.

The older woman led him to a table and laid some bingo cards down in front of him. "Now you just play a few games, and I'm sure you'll feel better." She helped him fill in the spaces as the numbers were called for the first game.

"See?" she asked. "Look how close you came to winning."

Duncan stared at the cards. He saw the winner looking happy and content as she picked up her prize – a set of matching steak knives. Suddenly a great feeling of peace descended upon him, and he played the second and third games in a Zen-like state. On the third game he split a ten dollar prize with…Cassandra?

"You came here to play!" he said to her. Now the betrayal was complete.

"What did you think, kilt-boy?" she snarled at him. "I want that lamp." He looked towards the stage and saw it then, the most hideous lamp he had ever seen in his life. It was taller than an average man, and had red, green and blue bulbs in the lower compartment, surrounding gilded plaster figures of a nymph, a shepherd and a sheep cavorting on a hill. If one listened carefully one might almost hear them singing "Hey, nonny" on the greensward. Glistening drops of oil ran down fine filaments of wire surrounding the figures like a cage. At top there was a flaring, openwork gold metal torchiere, strung with multi-colored glass beads. The effect was hideous.

And MacLeod knew he had to have the lamp. It was the only way to win back Methos.

"No," he said in a state that was almost dreamlike. "You can't have it. I'm going to win it."

"You? You were a bingo virgin until I bought you here. And too good for it, too," she spat.

"I will win it. I am Duncan MacLeod of…"

"of the Clan MacLeod, yes I know, I know. Listen, you tartan plaid twerp, you are not going to stand in my way! Three millennia ago, those bastards," she growled, waving at the Horsemen who sat hunched over their cards like jackals defending their prey, "robbed me of that lamp and I will have it tonight!"

"That lamp?"

"That very lamp."

"Cassandra, the lamp can't be that old!"

"It's under an enchantment."

"Oh come on."

"Okay well it's been rewired, but why do you think we all want it? It's butt ugly, MacLeod."

He had to agree with that assessment, but all the same the desire for it burned in his bowels. "There can be only one of them," he admitted. "Thank God."

And so he waited, waited despite his wild, uncontrollable desire to buy more cards and play every game. He waited, chanting to himself to restore his mental balance. He had to face his greatest challenge that night and he could not fail.

Just before the big game was called, a shadow fell across the table. Mac looked up. "Dawson!"

"You need help. I'm here," said Joe, sitting beside Mac and laying out a dozen more cards. "We'll play them together and show them all what a Watcher-Immortal partnership can do."

Duncan laid a grateful hand on Joe's shoulder. "You're a good friend, Dawson."

"Yeah, remember that next time Horton shows up and you start yelling at me."

"Joe, he's like a fucking jack-in-the-box!" Duncan protested. "The last time he turned up in my shower stall after my morning run. I couldna even wash m'hair!" he said, his Scot's burr rattling the dentures of some of his tablemates.

"Yeah, yeah."

"All right, people, calm down and listen carefully. This is our big game. The prize is this lovely lamp donated by…" The priest checked his notes. "Nana Astarte. Let's have a round of applause for Ms Astarte." A helper whispered something to him. "We have a correction, that's Ms. I Nana Astarte."

More applause. Clearly the lamp was a much sought-after prize.

And then the numbers began to be called.

Duncan and Joe worked methodically, checking and rechecking each card between calls. Every call occasioned a flurry of wild marking and furious whisperings at the Horsemen's table. Duncan couldn't help but feel despair as she noticed how many cards lay in front of the four…no…the three?

A handful of cards got flung down on the table. "Play, Highlander. For both of us." Methos laid the cards out in front of Duncan, who met hazel eyes filled with such a look of melting love that it took Duncan's breath away.

"O – 19" called Father Flannagan.

"We've got it, Duncan," Joe whispered. "We've done it."

Duncan looked down and saw it as clear as day – a winning card. He snatched it up and held it high over his head and his deep, resonant voice shouted. "BINGO!!"

There were screams of disappointment from all over the hall. Duncan saw Kronos, Silas and Caspian heading towards him, so he leaped up onto the table and ran the length of it to the stage. He could feel Methos right behind him, and saw Cassandra fighting her way to the stage in the crush of humanity. He saw Caspian go down as a woman hit him with her knitting bag and screamed. "You killed my cousin Raylene and took her cards, you animal!"

Duncan reached the lamp first, Methos a few seconds later, and as their hands closed on the prize, the lamp short circuted.

Waves of electricity poured through them, arcing back and forth as they lifted the lamp up high above themselves. Flashes of blue, green and red light illuminated the scene as Cassandra and Kronos squared off with folding chairs. Oil dripped down Mac's face, windows blew out and suddenly the whole hall went dark.

Methos collapsed, falling hard to his knees, weeping. "I stole Silas' bingo cards. I like Silas!"

Mac could see Cassandra approaching through the shadows. "Keep your hands off it, you bitch!" he bellowed.

The lights flashed back on.

Cassandra's face was a mask of hatred. "You haven't seen the last of me, MacLeod. I'll get that lamp…and your little dog, too," she cackled as she ran from the hall.

Kronos mounted the stage. "Well you won this time, Highlander. But the game isn't over yet."

"Well it is for tonight," Father Flannagan said tersely. "And considering the fuss you boys made all night I'm going to have to ask you not to come back."

Kronos looked as if he was about to protest, but then he shrugged. "There are other halls, priest," he said with a sneer. "Silas! Silas?"

"I'm going to drop Caspian at home and Bobbi Jean and I are going to go dancing, brother." Silas had his arm around the waist of Raylene's cousin who was beaming up at him. "Don't know what time I'll get in."

"I was hoping you'd be staying for breakfast, sugar," she purred.

"The times they are a'changing," Kronos said as he helped Methos to his feet. "Wanna go someplace and fool around?"

Methos looked from Kronos to MacLeod and back again. "I thought…"

Both men turned their full attention on him. "Yes?" they said in unison.

"Maybe we should all make sure this lamp is properly installed at Mac's."

A slow smile spread across Kronos' face. "Brother, I salute you. You always were the most subtle and brilliant one of us."

Methos smiled modestly. "Come on, Mac, we have some work to do.

On their way out, Mac took a good look at the lamp. "What is that shepherd doing to that sheep?" he asked.

"Kronos and I are going to explain that to you, Mac. Don't you worry."

Joe Dawson watched the trio leave. A tall, beautiful woman sat down beside him and handed him a styrofoam cup full of coffee. "I am so glad to be rid of that lamp," she said. "After all these centuries."

"Couldn't have gone to better folks," Joe said, blowing across the surface of his coffee to cool it.

"So you say. You know I owe you for fixing that, Joe," Astarte said, running her fingertip up and down his arm. "And goddesses always pay their debts." She licked her full, red, ripe-cherry lips. "What can I do for you, handsome?"

Joe just smiled at her.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first of a series of three related stories about what the Horsemen get up to when world domination is off their calendars for a while. The second is "Like Totally a Modern Carmen Salavino."


End file.
